FINDING STRENGTH IN MY MOTHER’S WORDS

6 months ago
Read Time: 3 minutes
by admin

Strength is the first word that comes to mind when I think of my mother. Not the kind that shouts, but the kind that endures quietly through struggles, through sickness, and through years of holding a family together. This is my reflection as her daughter, on her resilience and the faith that carried her:
“Allah jo karega, achcha karega.”
These were my mother’s words when I asked about her health. Simple, unadorned, yet carrying the depth of a life lived in resilience and surrender.

My mother’s life was never gentle. As a mother of four, she spent over a decade raising us largely on her own. My father, though a loving husband, was bound by work that kept him away for 10-12 years. He visited when he could, once, maybe twice a month. But he ensured she had everything she needed. But unforeseen trials never wait for convenience. In the days before mobile phones, when communication was slow and uncertain, my mother bore the storms alone.

And yet, she never let the world see her struggle.

As a child, I often felt unloved. I was the middle one – rebellious, restless, always wanting life on my own terms. Her scoldings felt like rejection. Only now, as a mother myself, do I understand. When my own son resists every word I say, I feel the same surge of frustration. It is then I remember her patience, her endurance.

Looking back, I don’t recall her as healthy or carefree. Illness followed her like a shadow, but so did determination. She managed the household, raised her children, and carried burdens silently, never asking for sympathy.

What I do remember is her laughter. A full-hearted, unrestrained laughter that could light up the darkest room. My friends used to tell me, “Naseema, you have such an open heart, never lose that.” And know I now where it came from. My mother’s joy was her rebellion against hardship. Her smile was her shield. Her laughter, her strength.

When I saw her recently, I was unprepared. The treatment she undergoes has left her fragile. For more than a year and a half, she has survived on liquid diets. Her appetite is gone, her body weak, her energy drained. And yet, her smile remained.

It broke me inside, but I smiled back. Because a daughter’s tears would only deepen her mother’s pain.

Even in her frailty, she refuses to complain. She tells us she is fine, that she is improving, that she is stronger than she looks. She hides her suffering so we don’t have to carry it. That, too, is her strength.

From my mother, I have learned that life is never easy. It was not meant to be. But patience and faith transform hardship into endurance. You can cry. You can resist. Or you can surrender to Allah’s will, trusting that every trial carries meaning beyond our understanding.

Hope does not erase pain, but it gives you the courage to live through it. My mother has lived her entire life on this truth. And through her, I have begun to believe it too.

May Allah grant my mother health and restore her strength. May her laughter once again fill the air as it once did. And may we, her children, inherit the quiet resilience with which she lived her life.
Because in the end, life is not easy.
But with faith, it becomes bearable.